"Even though you never said anything about your situation, Charlotte guessed it... And during this time, I could see it too. You were ashamed, restless with anxiety, terrified of losing Charlotte."
Karl's head dipped lower and lower, nearly burying itself in his chest. Shame washed over him like an icy tide, drowning him.
But the Count's next words were like a sudden shaft of light cast into the darkness.
"Charlotte is willing to forgive you and return to Carnford with you, along with your son, Klein. After all, he is your only son, isn't he? Carnford's sole heir. He needs to live in Carnford."
"Only son." "Carnford's sole heir." This was not merely forgiveness. It was a verdict, a transaction, a cold declaration that folded an established fact into the framework of order.
Klein's identity had been acknowledged and given weight. It meant that, no matter what, this child—the child who carried both his and Charlotte's blood—would become Carnford's future master.
As Klein's birth mother, Charlotte would naturally possess an unshakable position in Carnford. And the Rochefort Family behind her would, through this bloodline, forge deeper, inseverable ties with Carnford—and even with the Schmidt Family.
After the storm, this was the most dignified and most solid compromise the various forces could reach based on their real interests. And the reason Karl could receive this forgiveness and acceptance, when all was said and done, was his son—the son he had nearly failed, the son he had not even met before now.
"Thank you, Count. Thank you, Lady Isabella. Thank you, Charlotte, for being willing to forgive me." He heard his own dry voice mechanically speaking words of gratitude.
Lady Isabella's undisguised cold snort pierced what remained of his dignity like an ice pick.
And Charlotte, from beginning to end, did not